


The Family that Slays Together, Stays Together

by Longpig



Category: Aliens (1986)
Genre: (of course), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Evil Corporations, Families of Choice, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Harsh Language, Hostage Situations, Not Actually Crack Despite the Title, Space Swap 2017, Team as Family, Xenomorph (Alien) - Freeform, apparently Bishop & Ripley is not a canon tag on ao3, don't worry Newt is older, jerk scientists, nuts to you ao3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig
Summary: Ten years after LV-426, Ripley is waging a small-scale war against Weyland-Yutani. This mission should have been simple... but then, nothing ever goes smooth.





	The Family that Slays Together, Stays Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> This story takes place in a universe where, instead of getting marooned on Planet Shithole, Ripley made it back home with Newt, Hicks, and (most of) Bishop. Also, I'm sorry about the title; I was really stuck.

 

“How much longer, Bishop?” Ripley kept her pistol leveled at the captives while he worked at the terminal behind her. The eight xenobiologists, three men and one woman, huddled together on the metal floor, their wrists bound with quick-ties, staring sullenly back at her. 

 

“Not long,” came the serene reply. “I’ve finished the data transfer. It will take a few minutes to upload the virus. I should be done by the time Hicks finishes planting the explosives.” 

 

“Good.” One of the researchers began sobbing quietly at the mention of the bombs, but Ripley had no sympathy for anyone involved in this project. It had been years since LV-426, and the Company still hadn’t learned its goddamn lesson about fucking around with Xenomorphs and their genetic material. She couldn’t believe they could still find people stupid - or ambitious, she guessed - enough to work on these schemes. Well, as long as Weyland-Yutani kept setting up these labs, she and her crew would be trying to tear them down. 

 

After escaping LV-426, she’d intended to settle down, live a quiet life with Newt and Dwayne, take the commercial license that asshole Burke had acquired for her - his only contribution to the universe other than bullshit and CO2 - and maybe start a little salvage op. Hicks had gotten an honorable discharge with a full pension. They’d thought they could try to forget about it all. She’d barely been back six months when she - well, Hicks - heard the first rumors. Someone he knew from the Marines knew a guy who knew a Company guy who had let slip that they were surveying LV-426 again, ostensibly for survivors from Hadley’s Hope who might’ve been away from the colony when the disaster happened. Ripley had known better. They were looking for survivors all right, but not human ones. Then, a few months later, Dwayne’s source had let him know that the Company had contracted the USCM to do security at a research lab they were establishing. 

 

She’d known then that they would never stop. Those fucking aliens were Weyland-Yutani’s bioweapons holy grail, and they didn’t care how many people were going to die for it. Well, not if she could help it. Dwayne was in, no questions. And then he’d introduced her to his informant. Ripley had never thought she would be so glad to see a synthetic. 

 

Her little salvage company had become something very different. WIth Bishop’s technical expertise, they’d outfitted their little second-hand ship to be practically self sufficient, and hard to detect. He’d figured out how to tap into the Company’s secure channels, and they’d begged, borrowed, and stolen weapons. Newt would stay with Hicks’ sister’s family, where she could have a stable home, out of danger, at least until she was older. Anti-corp terrorism was no life for a seven-year-old.

 

That had been more than ten years ago. Now, the little girl they’d rescued from LV-426 was the pilot of their ship. Ripley had fought it, but Newt was just as stubborn as she was. Over the past year, she’d more than proved herself, and Ellen had been forced to admit that she wasn’t a child any longer. They were all older, and harder now. Well, except for Bishop. Aside from a little hitch in his gait - the neural connections to his new legs couldn’t bypass all the damage the queen had done - he was just as he had been when she’d first laid eyes on him. She glanced back over her shoulder where he was absorbed in his work, fingers flying over the controls. The light from the terminals cast deep shadows across his face, accentuating his angular features. 

 

“Ripley.” Hicks’ voice broke in, crackling in her earpiece. “I’ve got the labs all wired to blow. Heading to the containment area, then I’ll rendez-vous.”    
  
“Affirmative.” She turned her attention back to the handful of scientists. They’d gotten lucky with the intel on this job - getting here before the station was fully staffed and operational meant fewer hassles. It also meant it would be somewhat less of a blow to the company, but it was still a good target. “Alright, everybody up!” She raised her voice to a commanding tone. It was time to move them into the panic room, where they’d be safe from the impending blast. She and her crew might be terrorists, but they weren’t murderers. The captives started shuffling to their feet. The weepy one was just sniffling now, but one of his colleagues, the blonde one with the ponytail and glasses, kept casting furtive glances at the laboratory door. Ripley narrowed her eyes. Something was wrong.

 

“Bishop,” she began, without taking her eyes off her prisoners, “how many staff were supposed to be stationed here?”

 

“One moment.” A brief pause. “Nine.” 

 

“Are you  _ sure? _ Shit.” Of course he was. She glanced back at him again; the light flickered in his hooded eyes as he scrolled through the files. 

 

“It appears we’re missing a Dr. Ayla Konami.” He looked up, his voice still impassive. One great thing about a synthetic; you could always count at them to keep cool under pressure. Ripley, on the other hand, felt herself starting to sweat.

 

“ _ Shit, _ ” she swore again. She looked to the door, then the restless captives, then back to the door. In that fraction of a second, a petite Asian woman in a lab coat had appeared in the doorway, brandishing a Heckler & Koch 9mm. Ripley’s reflexes kicked in, and she fired almost without realizing. Her ears rang, and she felt something sting her left arm near the shoulder, but the other woman went down. The other scientists were screaming. Moving quickly, she crossed the room, kicked the gun away from the woman’s hand, and bent to scoop it up herself. She was moving, just stunned. 

 

Bishop appeared at her side, carrying the medkit. “You’re injured,” he remarked. The sleeve of her jacket was torn, stained red around the edges of the hole. “Let me take a look.” Grimacing, she shrugged out of it. The android’s hands were cool and careful as he examined her arm. “Through and through. It’s just a flesh wound.”

 

“Technically they’re all flesh wounds, Bishop.”

 

“If I were more sensitive,” he replied as he unwound a length of bandage from the kit, “I might call that remark racist.” He quirked a grin at her, and she shook her head, chuckling despite the pain.

 

“Gimme that tape and go check her out.” She jerked her chin toward the prone woman, who was pushing herself up on one arm, and looking a little green. From what she could see, the scientist hadn’t fared much worse than she had, though - she probably just wasn’t used to getting shot. Bishop would patch her up well enough, and she’d be fine until the Company showed up to bail out her and her colleagues.

 

“You won’t get away with this,” Konami muttered. Her tone was pure sullen teenager, but she had a strange glint in her eyes that made Ripley uncomfortable.  _ Unstable. _

 

“If I had a dollar for every time we’ve heard that...” Bishop said as he applied a pressure bandage to the woman’s shoulder.

 

“... we wouldn’t have to build our own bombs,” Ripley finished. The doctor sneered back.

 

Just then, Hicks’ voice came over the radio again, sounding more urgent this time. “Ripley! I heard gunfire. Are you alright?”   
  
“We’re fine. Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she replied, shooting a meaningful glare at Konami.

 

“Good, that’s good.” He paused for half a second. “We got another problem. The containment unit down here - it’s open. And not on the airlock side.” She felt the blood drain from her face. Her mouth went dry. Bishop looked up from his work and met her eyes, steady as ever.

 

“...What?”

 

“Whatever was in there, it’s loose.” Fear bled into rage, and she crossed the room to seize the injured scientist by the lapels. Bishop stepped deftly out of her way.

 

“What did you do?” she demanded, shaking her savagely, without sparing any consideration for her wounds. A little lead poisoning was nothing compared to what was now stalking them. “Are you  _ insane? _ ” To her credit, she didn’t look away.

 

“This is the last facility you terrorists will sabotage!” she shot back.

 

“Oh my god Ayla, no! You didn’t…” one of the others gasped. The teary-eyed one was sobbing again. Two of the others looked close to vomiting.

 

“Jesus.” RIpley let the woman slump back to the ground.  _ She  _ is _ crazy. _ The doctor’s fanatical devotion to the Company was probably going to get all of her friends killed, not just Ripley and her crew.  _ Talk about a toxic workplace environment.  _ She felt a cool, light touch on her good arm, bringing her back into the moment.

 

“We have to get these people out of here,” Bishop said softly. Of course. They’d have to destroy the entire station now - if they could escape. And although he’d managed to ‘re-interpret’ his programming to allow him to participate in their efforts, he still could not knowingly allow humans to come to harm.  _ Even when they so richly deserve it _ .

 

“Right,” she conceded through gritted teeth. “Where are the escape pods?” 

 

“One level down. Near the docking ports.” That, at least, was a relief. Once they offloaded their excess baggage, they wouldn’t have to go far to reach their own ship. Then it would be bombs away.  They preferred to stick to small explosives, but their ship did have one precious stolen nuke on board. For emergencies.

 

“Hicks,” she called over the radio. “Dwayne… get out of here. If we don’t make it, if we lose contact, light this place up.”

 

“I’m not leaving without you,” he protested, but she cut him off.

 

_ “Promise me. _ ” She could feel his hesitation over the airwaves, but she knew he would do the right thing. 

 

“Affirmative.” Confirmation received, she returned her attention to the researchers.

 

“How many of those things are we dealing with?” Konami just stared back defiantly, but the man who’d spoken up earlier spoke up.

 

“Just one.” 

 

“One’s enough,” Ripley muttered, checking her weapon. It felt so small now, so woefully inadequate.  _ What I wouldn’t give for a pulse rifle right now.  _ “Alright, everybody on your feet!” All but the wounded doctor managed to struggle their way to an upright position, some with assistance from Bishop. Konami remained defiantly sat on the deck. “God damnit. We don’t have  _ time _ for this,” she hissed. Grabbing the other woman by her uninjured arm, she yanked her roughly to her feet. “You can walk or I can drag you, but we are  _ leaving. _ ”

 

The corridor outside the lab was quiet, but Ripley had learned not to trust silence. She closed her eyes for a moment as she stepped out, hauling the recalcitrant doctor, as if she could somehow sense the alien if it were near. There was nothing. Yet. She checked her corners, then motioned to Bishop to move the captives along. The station was not a large one, and they didn’t have to go far to reach the lift, although the scientists’ stumbling pace was definitely an impediment. She shot nervous glances back over her shoulder every few seconds, waiting to see something black and dripping drop from the ceiling, knowing they were being hunted. 

 

Somehow, they made it to the elevator. Ripley shoved her charge in unceremoniously, and the others piled in behind them. It was tight, but this didn’t seem like the time to be concerned with theoretical maximum capacity recommendations.  _ This is a one-way trip, anyway. _ There was nothing but the sound of laboured breathing as the lift descended, at a maddeningly languid speed. At last, the doors slid apart to reveal yet another empty hallway. The eight people they’d initially captured spilled out of the lift, looking around wide-eyed like frightened animals, with Bishop as their shepherd. Ripley dragged her sullen charge out, ignoring the way she winced.  _ This is nothing compared to what that  _ thing _ will do to you.  _

 

They took a left out of the elevator, back the way her crew had come. The escape pods were just a short jaunt beyond where they’d docked, and as they turned the last corner, she had a brief flicker of hope that they might make it… until she stepped in the puddle. Her heart sank as she backed up, and lifted her gaze toward the ceiling. A thick, mucusy fluid dripped from a join in the tiles. Her finger found the trigger of her pistol as she tried to swallow down her fear.

 

“Ha!” Konami barked harshly. “You won’t be impeding our progress anymore after this! Nothing can stop it! It’s… perfect!” Her eyes shone, manic. 

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ripley fought back the urge to just smash her smug, crazy face against the wall.

 

“Jesus Ayla, I don’t want to die!” one of the others wailed hysterically.

 

Then she heard it. A click of a chitinous claw on the ceiling behind her. A wet hissing, and the scrape of metal as the ceiling was peeled back. 

 

“ _ RUN!” _ She released her hold on Konami, who scrabbled away from her toward the wall. The rest of them didn’t need to be told twice, and bolted towards the escape pod docks. “Go, go,  _ go!”  _

 

The alien lowered itself to the ground with terrifying fluid grace and uncanny speed. Ripley was firing before she could even think about it, backpedaling furiously away from it, Bishop at her side, steadying her so she wouldn’t fall over her own feet. She heard someone screaming, and realized belatedly that it was her. There was a whirl of claws and spined tail, a sizzle of acid. The tiniest drop of spray found her foot, burning like nothing else in the universe could. It was agony, but she’d had worse. She kept firing, kept screaming. Someone else was screaming too, now, but she hardly heard them. She wasn’t on the station anymore. She was back under the reactor. Looking for Newt. Running from the Queen. Surrounded. Everything on fire. Abandoned. Don’t look.  _ Just close your eyes, baby _ . Or was it back on the Nostromo? Alone in the dark. Everyone gone. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t catch her breath, she felt crushed...

 

Suddenly, she felt a firm hand on hers, breaking the flashback’s spell. “Ripley.” It was Bishop. “You’re out of ammo.” She blinked, returning to reality, although her heart was still pounding at an alarming rate. 

 

Of course it was Bishop. It always was. Although Dwayne was her partner, the android had become her rock. An anchor when the tide of her past traumas threatened to carry her away. He was always there, always cool and calm. Solid. Even after Ash had shattered her trust in synthetics, she had come to rely on Bishop in a way that she couldn’t most humans. His programming, it turned out, made him a better person than most people. 

 

“It’s gone?” she managed after a moment. The corridor was empty, a smoking hole in the floor in front of them. Bishop nodded, releasing her hand.  _ For now. _ She reached automatically for the extra clip she always kept in her jacket pocket, realizing too late she had left it in the lab. She was down to a bloody tank top and fatigue pants, with nothing but harsh language to defend herself with. She could feel her heart speeding up again. 

 

“Ripley,” Bishop’s voice brought her back again. He was holding a magazine out toward her. “I took the liberty of removing this from your coat.” She took it gratefully, popping out the empty clip and slapping the new one into place. Her wounded arm smarted at the effort, but with all the adrenalin flowing through her, it was easy enough to ignore.

 

“Thanks.” It was understood that she meant more than just the ammunition. “Where’s the good doctor?” Bishop looked toward the hole. Cautiously, she edged toward its limit and peered downward. There was another, slightly smaller one in the deck below, and the one below that. There was no sign of the alien, but on the floor immediately beneath them was a mangled, acid-burned corpse. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person,” she muttered sourly. “Come on.” Against her better judgement, they continued toward the escape craft to check on the researchers. Most of them had made it through the hatch. Only the blonde woman and one of the men lingered by the hatch, looking frightened and uncertain.

 

“Dr Konami…?” the woman ventured, tentatively. Ripley shook her head abruptly.

 

“Consider it a life lesson. You got off light.” The scientist looked away, toward her companion, then down to the floor. Would any of this make a difference? Even if this entire group were convinced of the insanity of this line of research, there was always going to be someone who valued money, or some lofty, amoral idea of ‘science’, more than human life.  _ But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. _ She moved to leave, then in a moment of compassion, turned and drew the bowie knife she’d been carrying on her belt. The two researchers flinched, but she offered them a terse smile. “For your ties. Take it and get out of here.” The blonde took it carefully between her hands, and slowly nodded her thanks. No more words were exchanged before they disappeared behind the sliding door that sealed the escape craft from the rest of the station. 

 

Now she and Bishop just had to save themselves. The creature was merely wounded, which meant it was only a matter of time until it attacked again. She glanced down the corridor, past the melted hole in the deck plates.  _ Just a couple hundred feet. _ She nodded quickly at Bishop, then moved briskly back the way they’d come. Her eyes darted all around her as she ran, checking the ceilings, vents, anywhere something might be lurking. All she could hear was the sound of their footsteps, her own breath, and her pulse, pounding urgently in her ears. One hundred feet. Fifty feet. Twenty.

 

The hatch, the umbilicus that connected the station to their ship, was in sight. Hicks stepped out, shotgun in hand, sweeping his gaze around the hall to take everything in. The sensor plate that covered his missing eye would detect motion even through the bulkheads, although its range was limited.

 

“We’re prepped for takeoff,” he called out, “move it!” Ripley picked up her pace, with Bishop close behind. They were almost safe, almost --

 

She heard a clicking sound from the the ceiling behind them, then a loud clatter. She didn’t need to turn around; she could read the dread written all over Hicks’ face. She broke into a sprint and dove for the opening. His shotgun roared, and she heard the alien’s blood-curdling shriek. She glanced back over her shoulder - it was hit, and spewing its caustic innards across the floor of the umbilicus. The acid hissed and spit, and then came a loud whistling as the atmosphere began to blow out into the vacuum. _Why does this always happen in airlocks?_   
  


Still the creature came. Its legs were half blown out from under it, but somehow it was scrabbling towards them, screeching and slavering. Hicks gave it the second barrel, but only managed to clip its shoulder. Meanwhile, the holes in the umbilicus grew, venting more atmosphere into space. If they waited much longer, their ship would be unreachable. Hand over hand, she pulled herself toward the hatch of the waiting vessel.

 

“Hicks! Bishop!” she yelled as she slapped at the airlock control. The android was right behind her, but Hicks was struggling to find a safe path as more perforations appeared in the link where the creature had dripped its fluids. Desperate, he threw the shotgun at the alien, hoping to buy a precious second or two, and grabbed at one of the emergency handholds in the wall. But the xenomorph batted the projectile away, and with a flick of its tail, sent him spinning across the floor instead. For a fraction of a second, Ripley thought they’d finally caught a break - the alien had actually thrown him closer to the ship - but she realized, with horror, that Hicks’ left foot was caught in one of the breaches. He grimaced, then screamed in pain as the vacuum threatened to pull him through the small aperture. “No!” she screamed, her hand shooting out reflexively toward her partner. 

 

“Ellen… “ he managed through gritted teeth, “get out of here.” Behind him, the alien still loomed, but its advance had been slowed by a hail of projectiles as debris began to come away from the corridor.

 

“No!” she cried again. She refused to accept another loss. She started to step back out into the link, when a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her firmly into the airlock. Before she could protest, Bishop had left her behind, leaning out into the disintegrating corridor. Bracing himself with one of the handholds near their ship, he stretched as far as he could into the umbilicus, reaching toward Hicks. Dwayne flailed clumsily at the outstretched hand for what seemed like an eternity, disoriented by pain. Finally they connected, and he grabbed onto Bishop’s wrist. 

 

WIth his tranquil, unassuming demeanor, it was sometimes easy to forget about Bishop’s uncanny strength and reflexes. This was not one of those times. With one fluid motion, he yanked Hicks free, and pulled him backward into the airlock, where he collapsed next to the interior lock, gasping for air. As soon Bishop cleared the outer hatch, Ripley activated the lock, and the door began to slide shut. Through she shrinking aperture, she could see the creature coming towards them again, its secondary jaws gnashing at the air as it clawed its way across the link. She pounded on the panel desperately, as if it would make she hatch close faster - to no avail. WIth just a few inches left to go, shiny black talons thrust themselves into the aperture, holding it open. The monster butted its great elongated head against the door, hissing and snapping. Ripley fell back into the airlock, reaching around blindly, searching desperately for something to use as a weapon, something to beat it back. 

 

Suddenly, Bishop was in front of her again. Steadying himself on the sides of the hatch, he delivered a vicious kick to the thing’s face. Stunned, it withdrew its claws from the doorway, and the hatch finally closed, sealing with a soft hiss. Ripley could hear it howling its rage outside, beating its heavy skull against the airlock; but Bishop, unruffled as ever, merely moved over to the control panel to disengage from the umbilicus. There was a slight lurch, and the ship floated free. Ripley held her breath, waiting to hear something scratching at the hull, but there was nothing. She exhaled, feeling the tension leave her body.  _ No more surprises today. I’m getting too old for this. _

 

“Thanks, Bishop,” Hicks said, breaking the silence. “You really saved our bacon back there.”

 

“Anytime,” he replied coolly.

 

“Who says you’re not top of the line?” Ripley quipped as she got to her feet, earning a minute smile in return. She crossed the small chamber to open the inner hatch, and activated the ship’s intercom. “Newt,” she called up to the bridge, “take us to a safe distance, then blast this place to kingdom come.” 

 

“A-ffirmative,” came the steady response. 

 

Bishop grinned at her again as he helped Hicks to stand. “After all,” he said, “it’s the only way to be sure.”

 

It was good to be home.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
